


In The Light

by Miss_Deyora_Ash



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: (says the overly optimistic blond hippie), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, M/M, Self-Harm, Sort of? - Freeform, hurt/comfort?, talking about it will make you feel better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28904067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Deyora_Ash/pseuds/Miss_Deyora_Ash
Summary: Jimmy feels like he’s slipping, spinning out of control. Shattering like a glass. Robert's there to catch him.
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Robert Plant
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	In The Light

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: (minor) self-harm. If you struggle with these type of things, please be responsible.  
> \---  
> Jimmy: You've fallen back into depression because you've got a shoulder injury and can't dance. This is projecting.  
> Ash: You know what? I haven't felt okay in two weeks. I do not care.

Everything feels grey and empty, like the moment right before dawn on a misty day. Jimmy likes watching the sunrise but he hates the minutes before the first rays peek over the horizon and make everything golden. He prefers evenings anyway.

Not that he has any idea what time it is.

His finger hurts, the painkillers must have worn out sometime when he was sleeping. He hopes Peter will give him more, even thought the doctor said he needs to feel the pain to heal. So he doesn’t accidentally make it worse. He thinks he makes everything worse though, accidentally or on purpose, so it shouldn’t matter. He tried to play last night’s show on a half dose and kept screwing up which is worse than the injury itself. Not perfect enough.

He feels like he’s slipping, spinning out of control. Shattering like a glass. He just needs- something. Anything.

The room’s a veritable mess. Housekeeping has tried valiantly to tidy it up every day of course, but he keeps picking up this or that item for a minute before dropping it wherever he’s standing. Too tired to do anything but lie in bed and stare out the window, until the call comes and the circus begins again - fly to whatever town is next on the itinerary, soundcheck, drink until numb, play for four hours, fly back while drinking more, afterparty, sneak off to his nice and quiet second room, sleep, wake up, start over. There’s no show today so he has no reason to get out of bed at all.

Jimmy loves touring. He does. Maybe just not right now.

He turns the tv on to flip through the channels a bit. The first few bore him, but by the third he isn’t even paying attention to what is on anymore. He considers going back and checking again but it seems too much work, so instead he turns the tv off and drops the remote somewhere among the stuff strewn around the bed. He exchanges it for a book he usually loves but that he now is sick of before finishing a single page. He lets it fall from his hands back onto the bedsheet. A few of the pages crumble and he considers leaving it like that.

He will regret that later, he knows. Now he doesn’t care. Still, he smooths out the creases in the paper and carefully closes it.

Maybe he should call Peter and see if he can arrange something or someone. Preferably as sadistic as possible. He just wants to feel something other than disgust with himself for acting like this in the first place. If Robert finds out there’ll be hell to pay though, and he doesn’t think he can deal with a fight now. Robert dislikes such games in general and refuses them altogether when Jimmy feels bad. Says that it isn’t what he needs. Whatever. He disconnected the phone anyway and he really doesn’t feel like fixing it. 

He brushes some hair behind his ear and grimaces at the greasy feeling. Right. He’d been too tired to wash yesterday. And the day before. He can at least do that.

Getting up seems impossible at first, but now that he has a goal he manages to crawl out from under the covers. There’s a bottle of water on the nightstand. He wonders who left it there, but unscrews the cap and takes a few gulps in the hope it will dim the dull throbbing in his temples.

The hotel suite’s bathroom is ridiculously fancy, all marble surfaces and brass taps. Jimmy revels in the luxury normally, it’s half the reason his second room is in the most expensive part of the hotel, far away from the rest of the entourage. Today he thinks he’d get a kick out of spoiling it. He won’t though - now there’s a waste of money. He turns the taps to start filling the bathtub.

He hesitates when he goes to lock the door. Jimmy supposes the one other person who knows where he’s hiding out is still welcome, even if he hasn’t bothered to show up yet. So he leaves it unlocked, and walks over to the hotel room door to unlock that as well. Just in case.

There’s a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of last night’s jeans and he shakes the last few smokes out. Smoking still disgusts him but he’ll admit it’s effective for reducing stress. The cigarettes are placed carefully on the edge of the tub, within easy reach, with his favourite silver lighter and an ashtray next to them. He doesn’t care so much about aesthetics right now but maybe it’ll him feel normal.

When he’s undressed he turns to survey himself in the large mirror. A bad idea probably. He’s a mess and already knows it. Skinny, pale, and rapidly aging. Dark circles under his eyes from a lack of sleep. No wonder Robert stayed away. He frowns when he catches sight of his finger and lifts his hand up to his face to study it more closely. Is it more swollen than yesterday? He can’t be sure but he hopes not.

The water stings when he dips his toes in, the temperature slightly too high. He shrugs and lets himself sink into the tub anyway, submerging fully for a moment before sitting up. The burning will subside soon enough when he gets used to it. And until then, well, he feels more awake now at least. More aware. 

Mechanically he lights one of the cigarettes and takes a deep drag, disregarding the ashes that fall into the water. Closes his eyes. Almost enjoyment, if not for the general feeling of malaise that has come over him.

Jimmy doesn’t know how long he’s sat there, slowly smoking his cigarette, before the door is silently opened. He keeps his eyes closed. But feels his sunshine perch carefully beside him on the edge of the tub. He likes to think he could know where Robert is at any time if he wishes simply by sensing his energy. He definitely knows when they step into the same room.

“What do you want?” he asks. Robert gently combs his fingers through Jimmy’s hair. He forces himself not to cringe at that, but all Robert does is silently grab the tiny bottle of hotel shampoo and pour some into his palm. Jimmy can’t bring himself to react when Robert sets to washing his hair, not even to sit up to help him reach.

“Nothing,” Robert finally replies. “Only to be here.” Jimmy knows that’s a lie but he isn’t sure what Robert does want. He opens his eyes and looks over his shoulder to see if he can read it from his face. Robert only looks tired, just like him, and strangely happy to be here. Unlike him.

“You know, it was very risky for you to leave the doors unlocked like that. I could’ve been a burglar. Or worse.” Robert sounds so concerned Jimmy doesn’t bother pointing out the hotel has great security. 

“Tell me something,” he says instead. “I feel, so...” He trails off, not knowing what he was trying to say or how to say it. He’s never been a wordsmith. The cigarette’s almost finished so he uses the last bit to light the next. Drops the butt on the floor next to the bathtub, causing Robert to frown. He picks it up between thumb and forefinger and places it in the ashtray before going back to lathering his curls with the shampoo.

“I was worried,” he eventually says.

Jimmy resolutely ignores the spark of happiness he feels at that, the pure hope it elicits in him. “What for?”

Robert’s fingers catch on a knot in his hair and Jimmy hisses as he roughly pulls them through. “Christ, Jimmy,” he says. “Stop acting like everything’s fine.”

Jimmy tenses and looks away again. He wishes he was as jaded as he pretends to be. Then again if he was Robert wouldn’t be here in the first place.

“You can’t keep doing this forever, you know? I wish you would just tell me what’s going on,” Robert continues. He doesn’t sound angry exactly, but it still makes Jimmy want to duck his head and apologise. Even if he doesn’t know what for. It’s not like he wants to be a burden. He reaches behind him and silently offers Robert the rest of the cigarette. Robert takes it.

“I know it’s not easy for you to open up, but you can trust me! Right?” Jimmy flinches at the small tone the last word is said in. He does trust him, of course he does, but what would he even say? That he’s overreacting ridiculously to his broken finger? That nothing seems to matter anymore, except that it clearly does because every time he screws up he wants to fling himself of a building? That he’s so so so tired of his own mind and just wants to sleep for as long as possible. That nothing is working. That he wants give up, maybe, just a little bit.

Robert sighs and turns on the showerhead to rinse out his hair. The water in the tub almost comes up to the edge once he’s done. Then he leans in and presses a kiss to Jimmy’s temple, murmuring an apology. Jimmy’s first reaction is to push him off. He doesn’t need comfort. He’s being stupid and he needs to get over himself. He regrets it when he feels (he really does feel it, he always feels it) Robert go cold. “God, why must you be so difficult!” Robert says. “I- I hate you sometimes.” Sounding shocked at his own words.

All Jimmy can do at that is laugh. “So do I,” he chokes out between giggles that quickly turn into sobs. He needs to get himself under control, needs to stop acting- crazy. Insane. He’s acting insane. And then he can’t stand it anymore he needs something anything he needs to get away he needs it to hurt needs something to hurt -

He’s turned around and plucked the cigarette from between Robert’s lips before he knows it, before he’s even processed what he’s doing. He hesitates then, some instinctive part of him screaming at him to stop, but he hurt Robert and everything is crashing down around him and he cannot stand it any longer. He forces the cigarette against the skin of his upper arm.

The searing pain shocks him back into reality and then Robert’s holding his wrists, yelling at him. “Why would you do that? Christ, Jimmy, what, why would you, oh god,” he continues babbling as Jimmy looks down at his upper arm with a vague curiosity. Robert must have reacted quickly, it can’t be more than a first degree burn. The cigarette ended up in the water, tobacco spilling out as it becomes waterlogged. 

Robert has finally shut up, though he looks deathly pale and drawn, like he didn’t even knew this was a thing people could do. Jimmy barely knew himself. It was cathartic he supposed, like the burn of the water when he first got in the bath. 

Not right though. Not if it makes Robert react like this. His knuckles are white from how tightly he’s clutching Jimmy’s wrists, and it feels like the fragile joints are being crushed. “You’re hurting me,” Jimmy says, like that isn’t the most ironic thing he could say.

It takes a second for Robert to react but then he immediately lets go, like he’s the one being burned now. “Shit, Pagey, I’m sorry.”

Jimmy wants to say it’s okay, but it isn’t, those were his wrists, he needs those to play guitar. He already can’t use his fingers properly. He can’t get more injuries, what’ll be the use of him then?

Oh. He’s crying again.

“You hurt my wrists,” he says, and he’s well aware of how pathetic he must look, curled up in a bathtub bawling his eyes out.

He can’t look at Robert but he hears him take a deep breath, like he does to calm his nerves before a show. Then Robert grabs his hands, holding them very gently in his own. “I know Pagey, I’m sorry. But you tried to, you, you burned yourself.” He whispers the last words like they’re some shameful secret and Jimmy knows already. He does. It was stupid, and impulsive, but he wasn’t in his right mind. He couldn’t have been because he already wants to hide away in some dark spot and pretend it never happened. “I wasn’t going to sit by and let you do that.” 

Jimmy feels like a child. “I wanted to feel something,” he says with a small voice. He doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to.

“You feel too much.” Robert takes out the bath plug and turns the shower back on, with icy cold water this time. He aims it at the burn and Jimmy forces himself to endure it.

Once the water is all drained away and Jimmy is shivering all over from the cold Robert helps him stand up and get out of the tub. Jimmy’s still crying a bit and Robert is still shaking a little, but he’s making himself strong for Jimmy. He feels a sudden rush of fondness. His sunshine. God, why would he do something like that in front of his sunshine? Robert deserves better.

Robert wraps a large towel around him and gives him a short hug. When he moves back he looks solemn. “I’ll bring you some clothes. Then we’re going to talk.”

Jimmy feels drained. Like he can barely stand on his own legs. Right now he wants to lock himself away somewhere and curl up and sleep. “I don’t want to,” he whispers. “I’ll be fine.” He’s not sure if he’s telling the truth.

Robert sighs. His eyebrows furl and Jimmy wants so badly to stop disappointing him. “Pagey, this is not a request,” he says slowly. “You can talk to me, or I tell Peter what you did.” Jimmy thinks he should be angry at that but all he feels is relief.

The thing is, Robert doesn’t draw lines. He hesitates, he bargains, he complains. He even throws tantrums when needed. But he doesn’t give ultimatums, he doesn’t say “this far and no further”, he never tells Jimmy no. He just doesn’t.

Jimmy thinks that if he wasn’t feeling so despondent he’d want to prod at that. See if the conviction holds. See what it takes to gain back control. But if he’s being honest…

Maybe this isn’t so bad.

Maybe this is a good thing.

He watches mutely as Robert gathers up the lighter and, after scanning the room, the razor lying by the sink. With one more wary look at Jimmy he leaves the bathroom, quickly returning with a pile of clothes in his hands. Jimmy remains in the same spot the entire time, something aching deep inside him. He really fucked up.

Robert leaves him alone to get dressed.

When Jimmy leaves the bathroom he finds Robert sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at his hands. The books are piled on the nightstand and the lights are lit for the first time in three days. He’s wearing one of Jimmy’s shirts, but probably only because his own blouse was drenched. He doesn’t react at all when Jimmy pads over to him.

Jimmy doesn’t know what to do, what to say. How to fix this.

He kneels down at Robert’s feet and leans his head against his knee. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Robert says. Jimmy doesn’t get why. He’s not going to protest it though, not if this means Robert might forgive him. He pushes closer against his legs.

“I just, I feel so,” he searches for words. “I feel so empty lately, you know? And I don’t know why.” He wraps his hands around Robert’s ankles, a hiss escaping him as a stab of pain shoots through his fingers.

Robert catches it, catches him. “Jimmy, get up. Sit next to me.” When he does Robert picks up his hand, studies it. “You need to be careful.”

A flash of anger shoots through him. “Christ, don’t you think I know that?”

“You don’t take care of yourself as well as you should,” Robert says, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

Jimmy leans his head on his shoulder. Tears are pricking in his eyes again. He’s such a crybaby. “It, uhm, doesn’t help. When I can’t play properly. I get so hopeless. What use am I if I can’t play?”

Robert chuckles at that but it doesn’t feel like judgement. “You hold yourself to very high standards you know?” Jimmy is very well aware of that. He fails to see the problem. His standards are what brought him this far, what brought the band this far. “When I lost my voice, was I no use?”

“Of course not!” Jimmy says automatically, cursing himself as soon as the words leave his lips. This is going all wrong. He hates talking about these things for a reason. Mostly when he isn’t good at something and can’t get better he refuses to do it.

He takes a deep breath and collects his thoughts. “That doesn’t mean anything.” Robert hums non-committedly into his hair. “I _know_ it’s irrational.”

“Telling yourself that doesn’t help?”

Jimmy feels inexplicably annoyed. “I have no reason to feel this way, I know. That’s why it’s so ridiculous.”

Robert wraps an arm around him tightly. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I need to get over myself.”

“Pagey,” Robert says, “it’s okay not to be okay.”

Jimmy doesn’t know why that hits him so hard, but he’s suddenly sobbing again. Robert is holding him, soothingly running his hands through his hair and down his back. “I just… I don’t know why I feel like this! Everybody else seems to deal with their problems just fine, why am I so weak?”

“You’re not weak,” Robert says, and Jimmy wildly pushes away from him.

“I am! And I can’t do anything right!” He tangles his fingers in his own hair, pulling at the locks until it hurts. “Maybe my finger isn’t the only thing broken about me,” he chokes out.

Robert catches him again, softly detangling his hands and pushing them down into his lap. Then he cups Jimmy’s face in both his hands and tilts his head up so he’s forced to look at him. “You are not broken.” Jimmy wants to believe. Almost does believe him. “Look, I won’t say I understand how you feel. But I don’t think you’re weak at all. You’re fighting.”

Fighting. He likes that. “In that case I’m fine fighting on my own,” Jimmy says. Half-hearted.

“I know you think it’s a silly hippie thing, but talking about your feelings does actually help,” Robert says, biting his lip. Jimmy swears that if Robert suggests a shrink he’s walking out of here, damn the consequences.

Though this was nice. He does feel better. A little bit. Maybe.

Robert gives in. Kisses his forehead. “Can you promise me one thing at least?” Jimmy doesn’t make open promises. “Tell me if you feel this awful again? Before you do something stupid.” The words sting. But maybe Robert just doesn’t know how to talk about it. Not that Jimmy does.

Jimmy thinks about how badly Robert was shaking before, about the wide-eyed pale-faced look on his face as he gripped Jimmy’s wrists. He also thinks Robert wouldn’t react nearly so badly seeing the results rather than the action. “I won’t do that again,” he says, but it’s not a promise and they both know.

“Please.”

His sunshine. As if he can deny him anything. “I promise I’ll tell you.”

This time Robert kisses his lips, soft and brief. When he pulls away he looks too serious again, hands still cupping Jimmy’s face, and Jimmy wishes he could look away and hide. All that crying. He must be a mess. “Pagey, you’re perfect,” Robert tells him, and it feels like truth. Then he smiles, finally, dimples in his cheeks and all. Like sunrays peeking over the horizon. “I love you. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is gonna be longer than usual because I feel like this needs some disclaimers.
> 
> Obviously, I don't know if Jimmy ever dealt with depression in real life, and as far as I know he never self-harmed either. This is fiction.
> 
> Character!Jimmy's attitudes here are not healthy (duh), but I did try to make them realistic. This takes place in the 70s, psychological disorders were much more stigmatised and less recognised. Jimmy doesn't even know he has one. Even if you're diagnosed and all depression can still be a bitch and make you believe you're overreacting. 
> 
> Jimmy's opinion on shrinks here is not one I agree with - if you deal with mental health issues, please consider going into therapy, it can do so much good.


End file.
